The Lord's Son
by swasdiva
Summary: What sacrifices must a father make for the sake of his beloved son? Merry Christmas, Inu-papa. -- An Inuyasha crossover of Biblical proportions -- In four parts
1. Chapter 1

**The Lord's Son: Chapter 1**

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Be prepared. I slaughter the Tetsusaiga/Tenseiga canon, play a little...or a helluva lot...with Sesshoumaru's age and massacre the standard historical principles of Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism and even a touch of Shintoism, all to suit my deluded fanfiction aspirations. I'm ready for the purists to bring their pitchforks.

Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha or Christmas, but I'm pretty sure Jesus isn't going to sue me, thank you...uh...Jesus. Oh, and because for some reason I like it better than Touga, even though I'm pretty sure this particular Inu-papa name is even more obscure in origin than that, I'm going to call him Sugimi. So sue me. Or don't. C'mon, it's Christmas. Have a heart.

**FREE GIFT:** At the end of every chapter I have a handy-dandy nano-encyclopedia of historical facts/fictions so you, the reader, can understand what in the hell is going on.

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Pulling thick layers of rich silk tighter around his facial markings, Sugimi studied the two caravans warily from across the campfire. They were both adorned with treasures equal in measure to his own convoy, but crafted in styles that were exotically unique. Servants bustled through ornate, heavy tent flaps as they prepared the evening meals. They never ventured into the other's territory, but not out of fear. Quite the contrary, the two head priests had quickly developed a ready rapport, even without understanding a word between each other. They had tripped over introductions, resorted to comparing astrological charts and prophecies, and then laughed it off while adjourning with several interpreters into one hut to pass along a smoking pipe.

For human food, their spiced mutton tickled Sugimi's keen senses enough to have his mouth watering, but he would never approach either priest for a sample. The polite reason was that his status as a foreign prince disavowed him to impose upon another noble. The simple reason was that, while the other two lords had overcome language barriers, he had given the cold impression he didn't care whether they understood him or not.

The real reason, however, was neither polite nor simple. It was deadly.

They were sent as peaceful envoys from their respective countries to verify astrological predictions of an impending divine birth in the far west. He was sent to find the child, the supposed king of a people called 'Jews', and kill him.

The order came at the start of the prior year in the early blush of spring, when primitive human collectives in Japan were preparing for their _Ontohsai_ festivals on the outskirts of Mt. Moriya and ripe for the taking, according to the whims of his father. The great Inu no Taisho despised humans, more so than any of his predecessors, and wouldn't hesitate to casually 'forget' the centuries-old truce developed to keep peace during important religious feasts by attacking them at the height of their vulnerability. It didn't matter that more than half of his current imperial court despised him for this dangerous neglect, since the Western Lands would also be violating the practices of their own seasonal traditions. At the end of every argument was the damning fact that the Inu no Taisho's word was more than law. It was commanded through the mouth of a living god.

Or so his people believed. Snarling lightly under his scarf, so much that his breath warmed his chin against the arid desert chill, Sugimi damned his father and his ignorant countrymen. If they knew the tyrant as he did, they would have revolted long ago. One day, when he knew without a doubt that he was strong enough to succeed, Sugimi would challenge his father before the crowds of his subjects and depose him. Until then, he was required as the last surviving son of the Inu no Taisho to do his every bidding.

Even if it meant the death of an innocent child.

To anyone passing by the Inu no Taisho's warmly lit study on the night Sugimi received his mission, the conversation between father and son would have seemed deceptively casual. The Western Lord always decreed his darkest bloodlusts to the shadows, foregoing the publicity of court in favor of more direct coercion. He was a master strategist, a coffer so full of cunning cruelty there was no more room for conscience.

Sugimi had realized his father's true nature late in his youth, when his older brothers were sent to raid the Dragon kingdom to the north and the Moth dynasty on the mainland coast. They both returned half-dead, two great warriors nearly sacrificed for their father's gratuitous greed. The Inu no Taisho blamed them when the two clans united in a counterattack, his icy disdain leaving scars that had never truly healed, even up to each son's death.

When his father's summons came, Sugimi's mind quickened with their memory: Jomeimaru's stoic responsibility and quiet care, Arashi's untamable passion and wandering spirit. He felt their phantom hands restrain him as his footsteps echoed down the tomb-cold hallways. As the guards escorted him into the lavish study, his father dismissed the anxious look that pulled Sugimi's pupils into taut slits. He only cared that Sugimi acquiesced, as did everyone else, and the Inu no Taisho expected nothing less.

With one clawed hand nonchalantly sloshing a small cup of plum wine, his father addressed him.

"Sugimi," he stared blankly at the flickering hearth, "I have need for your love of travel."

"Hai, my lord," Sugimi responded. He was perturbed and wary of this strange request. Travel before the start of spring, at the height of their festival season?

"My son," the king smiled. It stretched his lips so thinly and with such superficial pomp Sugimi was sure they'd crack. "Have you ever been so far as a land called Judea?"

"Honestly I have never heard of such a place."

"Hmm," the Inu no Taisho snorted, "I fear if something is not done soon that could very well change."

"Forgive my ignorance," Sugimi bowed curtly, "I do not understand."

His father chuckled condescendingly and Sugimi's fists clenched in response.

"Of course you don't. I don't expect a lamb to harbor the knowledge of a lion."

Sugimi could feel the heat bleeding into his eyes, and thanked the gods he had enough sense to keep his head down submissively. "Hai, my lord. I humbly ask you to share this knowledge."

If his great and terrible father had any inclination of his son's shifting emotions, he made no verbal acknowledgment of it. Raising his head after a strained silence, Sugimi came face to face with his father's piercing, assessing stare. He shuddered as a warning wave of youki traced a sharp edge down his spine. Sugimi steadied himself and returned the stare, aware of the warning and, with his stance, almost going so far as to challenge it. They battled wordlessly until his father took a deliberate sip of wine and licked his fangs.

"I have a request that, as my son, you must obey." He whispered venomously. "I want no arguments."

"You will have none."

"Of that, I am sure." His father's lips lingered near the rim of his cup. Narrowed, focused eyes picked Sugimi apart. "This request requires that you travel with a caravan of Buddhist priests from the Yuezhi country to the land of Judea, a province on the eastern outskirts of the Roman Empire." The Inu no Taisho twirled his wine and Sugimi gasped.

"R…Rome?" he sputtered, at a loss for words. Sugimi fumbled with anger and excitement. He'd heard enough stories of Rome's grandeur to fill his head with years of dreaming, but he could not begin such a quest now. His life had changed dramatically in the last year, and while his young mate gave him leave to travel to the mainland when he wanted, she was in no condition to be left alone for so long. This quest would take months. It was valuable time he would not and could not miss. "But Father–"

"_Silence_," the Inu no Taisho snapped his jaws around the quick command. He wallowed in the moment of his son's instant and complete subjugation before continuing with silky indifference. "You will address me properly. I will bow neither to your temper nor your pathetic conscience. The Yuezhi are going and you will keep an eye on them. They violate our treaty with collaboration from mongrels in Persia."

Gritting his teeth, Sugimi lowered his eyes. "My Lord, forgive my impudence, but I am uncertain how this could be. Yuezhi and the Parthian Persians despise each other. What could make them travel together?"

"This quest seems too important for them both, thus they have resigned to a temporary truce. The Parthian lords are also sending an envoy of Zoroastrian magi to this Judea, for reasons similar but entirely more treacherous. While the Yuezhi travel to substantiate the work of their amateur sages, the Parthians are built on centuries of astrological knowledge. They know with great certainty that their predictions will prove true, and if that is the case, they go to plan espionage against Rome."

Sugimi paled. His anger quickly shifted from the demon in front of him to lands far away. The distant Parthian Empire had never formalized relations in Asia farther than the courts of China, but he wasn't inclined to fault them for it. They had always been peaceable enough with him when he traveled there and held audience with their lords. They were a more gregarious group of demons than those of his land – as many empires held demons in their ruling ranks – and normally very public in dealings with their Roman enemy. The only reason his father loathed them was their ready acceptance of hanyou as legitimate nobility. While their war with Rome was not his, if he went with their envoy to validate the astrological prediction then perhaps he could curtail any clandestine plot underfoot and knock some sense into whichever Parthian lord had connived such a scheme.

Sugimi's heart ached with uncertainty as the brilliant smile of his mate came to mind. This task was not important enough for him to abandon his family when his son was newly born, however much he wanted no harm to come to Rome before he saw it with his own eyes. Snickering wryly inside, he realized the only reason he cared about the Parthian plot was because Rome might be sacked before he got there. He drew a deep breath and made his decision.

"I will not go." He squared his shoulders defiantly. The Inu no Taisho's eyes blazed.

"You will not go," his father repeated, torturously languid as his posture froze in rage, "Even if our country is threatened because of this pending conflict?"

"It would affect our borders? A dispute so distant?"

"This Parthian prediction is nothing short of a war declaration, if we idly sit by and allow it to pass. It foretells of a miraculous child-king born in this degenerate land of Judea, a 'king of the Jews', whoever they are." The Inu no Taisho sniffed derisively and paged through a few scrolls lounging on his desk. "Judea is occupied by Rome, and its people are Rome's citizen-slaves. They detest Roman rule, even as their hierarchy gorges themselves on Rome's wealthy teat. But," he lingered emphatically, "This child-king would change all that. Based on a rare planetary alignment at the moment of his birth, he is reportedly endowed with holy power unlike anything our kind has ever seen. Even humanity will not escape his power."

"My lord, is that possible?"

"I assure you, it will be. The people of Judea will raise him as a living vengeance against Rome, and every great civilization on earth will fall to ruin." His father's ire slid down his face into a menacing smirk. "Unless I send you to stop it."

Startled, Sugimi felt his pulse quicken. He didn't want to consider the implications of what he was hearing. He knew his father was malicious, but he never fathomed the demon king would stoop so low. Shaking slightly, Sugimi stared, aghast, as his father's smirk widened into a face-splitting grin. He'd never looked so evil in all of his long life.

"You...want me..." Sugimi stuttered and trembled. Blood dribbled from where he unknowingly ground his claws into his palms.

"I want you...to...what, Sugimi?" His father tilted his head benignly.

"You'd have me kill the child." Sugimi growled. His father cackled like the fire in the hearth.

"Hmm," he wiped at his eyes, "You can be astute when you want to be. You will kill the child, yes, and return his body to me so I can feast upon his flesh."

"You wouldn't–"

"I would, and I will. The Parthian magi are journeying to pay homage to this new 'king' because he will be their weapon against Rome. I am told these Jews were once exiled in Persia, scattered across the earth by foreign kings, and now that slavery has reclaimed their homeland they are ravenous to destroy all their oppressors. Do you see, my son, why I must be prudent with my judgment? If the Persians put so much faith in this boy to topple an empire as formidable as Rome, then who is to say his reign will not spread here? I cannot have that."

"My lord, if I may speak openly." Sugimi's voice quivered, sounding meek even as he shielded his wrath. The king gave him a scathing look and nodded.

"Speak."

"My lord, we are Japanese Youkai. We have held off attacks from human and demon kingdoms all across the mainland for centuries. Our island is rumored to be impervious to invasion because of our strength. I don't see how a helpless human child from a worthless country could rival us enough to cause such worry." Even as he quaked inside, playing up the superiority of their race was Sugimi's only viable attempt to cajole his father into reconsidering. It was against his deepest honor to kill a child. Didn't his father respect the old ways, the intrinsic character of Japanese values that had been upheld and ingrained since the first eras? Their culture abhorred the slaughter of innocents, no matter the species. If an enemy could not mount a comparable defensive, there was no challenge or honor in the fight, and no recognized glory. What did his father hope to accomplish in the eyes of his peers by slaying a child in cold blood?

Almost in precise reply, his father stared at him, sharp and merciless.

"Any child rumored to have as much holy power as this child is worthy of my claws through his heart. But I am too important to leave my kingdom for such trivial work. As my son, you shall be my assassin, hidden in the guise of praise. You will journey with these priests bearing a singular gift, as they will be. I have prepared something fitting for this holy heir."

"What gift, my lord?"

"Have you heard of the spice called Myrrh?"

"No, my lord, I have not." Sugimi scowled. The Inu no Taisho chuckled.

"It is a valuable product of the young king's homeland, according to reports from my contacts in that region. It is used in funerary rites to purify the corpse. It will suit him well, I think. I have acquired an amount fit for such a king. You will give him this, with grand humility."

On the edge of combusting with hatred, Sugimi stepped forward to protest.

"I will do no such thing!" he bellowed and struck his father's intricately carved wooden writing table, shattering a few inlays under his fist. "I will not bring dishonor to our ancestors so you can appease your paranoia! This insignificant human child is halfway across the world, lying as a pitiful infant in a nameless village. There is no feasible way he could raise arms against you! I will not be an accomplice to your needless slaughter!"

"Are you finished?" his father murmured sweetly from behind a face of stone.

"I mean this, my _Lord_," Sugimi threw the title in a flurry of spit and rage. His chest heaved with burgeoning courage. It felt thrilling, but besides the juvenile reveling of his beast, his mind was maturely determined. He would not submit to his great father's lunacy. "I will not go."

"You say that," the Inu no Taisho flicked his claws and poison shimmered against the hearth's firelight, "as if you have a choice."

"I will not _go_." Sugimi reiterated forcefully.

"My son," the king sighed, "no matter what you say, by this year's end a child will die, but it will be you who determines which child that is."

"What are you saying?"

"You seem to care much for this 'pitiful' infant, as you call him, even though he is a worthless human–"

"I _will not_ kill a child, no matter the race or kind!"

"–However," his father seethed, "I wonder if you'd go so far as to forfeit the life of your own newborn son to save him?"

Sugimi's heart shattered. "You can't–"

"–Kill my own grandchild?" The king snickered against his cup. "As long as you've lived under my house and you still question me? You are a foolish boy."

"You would make me choose between innocents."

"Such idealism is weakness," The Inu no Taisho's eyes slithered into thin, sparkling bands of gold. "I have no other recourse if you defy me. If I choose to let you live with this disobedience, you will have another heir. The runt's name can be given again." He snorted in distaste. "Truly, you would have been known as "Sesshoumaru" had it not been for the pleading of your mother. Perhaps if I had silenced her then, you would have more blood on your claws instead of oozing out your heart."

"My son…" Sugimi felt the blood drain from his head and limbs, and he nearly buckled under the strain. Visions swam amidst his unshed tears of his son's tiny body prone before an executioner, or tossed like a bag of rocks into the sea. Millions of morbid scenarios circled inside him like vultures, coiling in clusters so dense they turned the world black with their wails and pecking. His mate would die of anguish; he himself would die unless he gave into his father's demands. His guilt would plague him if he killed the human child, but his life would end to watch his only beloved son murdered.

"My son…" Sugimi choked again, "will live. I will obey you and journey to Judea."

"A wise choice," his father murmured with smug satisfaction. "I've left a special gift for you in your chambers, a _kubikiri tonto_ courtesy of our sword smith."

"A head-cutting blade? You'd not have me use my claws?"

"And leave the child's fresh blood for you? I think not." Dark wine lined his father's lips. "The tonto is forged from my fang. I've designed it to taste flesh as soon as it cuts, no matter how far it is from me or who wields it. Meaning, if I am not drunk on the holy child's blood by the year's end I will know you have failed before you set one foot outside the desert. Then, when you return, it will be your pitiful little son who dies."

Sipping languorously, the Inu no Taisho waited for Sugimi to react. Seeing nothing but the quiet quivering he expected, he dismissed Sugimi with a lazy wave, but gave a final warning as he pulled open the shoji screen door. "Do not think to trick me, Son. I cannot be outwitted. No kingdom on earth is beyond my grasp."

'_Nor any heart.'_ Sugimi thought as he wordlessly walked away, his chest heavy with pain.

Now, sitting thousands of miles away around a dying campfire, Sugimi's heart was empty. He was sure if he retraced his exact steps there would be a trail of blood mapping the way to his father's keep. Left alone in the frigid deserts of ancient Persia, there was nothing his heart could be except hollow and cold, and it was just as well. No heart with one beat left could accomplish his mission. There was no room for feeling in the plans of a child's murder.

The dagger made from his father's fang bowed like a farmer's sickle and was sharp enough to thresh bone in a single swipe. Such a compact shape disappeared beneath the fullness of his robes and curved comfortably against his hip, keeping its deadliness discreet and his traveling companions oblivious. Thumbing its obsidian hilt under his cloak, Sugimi abandoned his sullen thoughts to eavesdrop on the Yuezhi and Parthian priests as they barbed and bonded through bumbling interpreters. He was slightly surprised the ruling clans had sent human magi to oversee this journey if it was of such importance, but through his exploration he had discovered that some humans possessed laudable skill. Perhaps their ability to peacefully overcome political rivalries in the face of religious significance made the holy men best suited to this particular journey. Whatever the case, there was one certain, glaring trait that set them apart as a species to be loathed.

They were as loud and crass as the morning cock crowing, and just as harsh to his ears. Even though he was smugly grateful they thought his reticence meant he had no understanding of their tongues, they didn't have to shout all the way to Rome itself. He would've been just as content to listen in on whispers, for either way he would've heard every word clearly, especially since they were all about him.

"The Japanese prince is quite formidable, don't you think?" The Yuezhi priest queried eagerly.

"Yes, very!" The Parthian priest agreed. "He is larger than a Philistine, that one! Are all men from the far eastern island equal in stature?"

"Only the royalty, I hear," the Yuezhi priest responded. "While he may be tall like the Philistines of legend, he certainly doesn't act like one. He is strange and quiet, but quite refined. I do not feel threatened in his presence. Honestly, as we traversed the Hindu Kush I have never been more at ease."

"I can see why! If those mountains fell, he could stop them with his bare hands!"

They laughed again like two old, drunk friends, and Sugimi couldn't help but snort to himself. He may be youkai, but he was no more capable of moving a mountain than they were of raising the dead. He was intimidating, as all youkai were, but he mostly used it to his advantage for space and respect.

The two magi's slurring speech kept the interpreters stumbling over their responses, but the sudden bursts of jovial laughter continued, signaling either a budding alliance or a near depletion of their pungent smoking herb. Soon their conversation grew unintelligible and Sugimi lost interest. Although he slept little, he shut his eyes in hopes the night's frivolity would prevent the coming dawn. Before retiring, he took one last look at his hands. They were white in the full moonlight, but in a week's time they'd be red with a baby's blood.

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Yes, I am a Wikipedia whore:

**Parthians** were the ruling class of the enormous Persian Empire during the time of Christ. They were one of the big dogs of the ancient world, being a major player in development of the Silk Road, and were well known for their knowledge of astrology.

**Zoroastrianism** was the popular religion of the Persian Empire. It thrived for a long ass time (try two thousand years), only steeply declining when Islam became the dominant faith in the Middle Ages.

**The Magi** were traditionally a hereditary caste of Zoroastrian priests, but the term Magi has come to mean any order of ancient near-eastern religious priest (because there are so many of those to choose from. *sarcasm*). I obviously take liberties with this term.

**The Yuezhi** were an ancient tribal civilization of Indo-European descent spanning from western China through nearly every Central Asian country ending in "Stan" (Pakistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan...you get the idea). They were chiefly Buddhist and probably _not_ part of the Magi on route to visit Jesus. I use them for creative effect, in order to include a nation that the Inu no Taisho, residing so far away in Japan, would more likely have business with. Ironically enough, a Chinese translation of their name means "Clan of the Moon". Ooo, serendipity. Who wants to write a fic where Sesshoumaru's mom comes from there? What? No hands raised? Schnickerdoodles...

**The New Year -** When the current asshole known as the Inu no Taisho mentions returning by the New Year, I'm referring to the ancient Chinese/Japanese new year based on the lunar calendar, which would put it closer to spring, around the beginning of February.

_**Ontohsai**_** Festival -** The myth of the "Ten Lost Tribes of Israel" follows the tribes exiled in Babylonia, and later, Persia between 700-500 BCE. There are numerous theories of where these tribes were scattered, if they really did emigrate past the edge of the Persian empire, one which suggests some settled as far as Japan, corresponding to the end of the Jomon period when Shinto traditions were solidifying. According to this random guy, Arimasa Kubo, The Suwa-Taisha shrine in Nagano prefecture celebrates a festival in April called _Ontohsai,_ which is remarkably similar to the Biblical story of Abraham and Isaac: http : // www5 . ocn . ne . jp/ ~magi9/isracame . htm (It may be a little kooky, but it's hella interesting!)

**The Hindu Kush** is a mountain range in Afghanistan. Simple enough for you?

**Philistine** - a small kingdom right next to Israel during super-ancient Biblical times (we're talking 1150 BCE, people). They pretty much died out around 600 BCE, when the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar squashed them under his royal foot. They were known for their rowdy nature and tall stature. If you're familiar with the Old Testament story of King David, the giant Goliath was said to be a Philistine.

WHEW! Is that everything? Expect chapter 2 in a week!


	2. Chapter 2

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want;  
He makes me lie down in green pastures.  
He leads me down to still waters; He restores my soul.  
He leads me in the paths of righteousness for the sake of his honor.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me;  
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a banquet before me, even in the presence of my enemies;  
You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life;  
and I will return to the house of the Lord my whole life long."

– **Psalm 23**

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**The Lord's Son: Chapter 2**

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The desert burnt like forgotten game under the sun's blistering heat. Each caravan had been hastily packed and loaded at first light when the morning was still cool, but only an hour later the air grew oppressive and the dromedaries bayed for water. Sugimi snorted in agitation. He'd been told such pack beasts were specifically used for desert travel because they required less maintenance, but apparently, like their spoiled owners, they whined until they had more than their fill. They bayed on the hour every hour and each time Sugimi grit his teeth against his urge to silence them where they stood. The sun was waning towards the west and the convoys were all lagging in exhaustion when they crested the mountain and saw Jerusalem. Sighing in praise to the gods, Sugimi bounded down the mountainside, heedless of his companions' weary gasps. He was glad to be rid of the noisy camels and ready to explore the new city.

After three full passes through the bustling marketplace, Sugimi noticed the caravans finally catching up to him through the city gates. One of his servants, a young kitsune guardsman, broke from his convoy and rushed through the crowd towards him.

"I have a message for you, Sugimi-sama," The guard bowed crisply, his wild auburn hair falling in his eyes.

"Hai, continue."

"Hai. The Parthian priest has garnered us an immediate audience with the province's King Herod, Sugimi-sama. He wonders if you have any special requests before the audience commences."

"Iie, I have none," Sugimi answered, "Have the interpreter tell them I am ready when they are."

"Hai." He bowed curtly again and returned with the message. Not an hour later the three foreign lords and their interpreters were ushered into the sumptuous foyer of King Herod's palace. He dined in sprawling repose amidst a gaggle of servants and comely dancers. Food overflowed from bountiful platters, and Sugimi barely refrained from cringing when the two human lords smacked their lips in appreciation. Rising with an inflated bearing, Herod spread his arms to greet them.

"Welcome, my lords, to Judea." He made a wide gesture to his feast. "Please, make yourselves comfortable as you regale me with stories of your journey."

The Parthian and Yuezhi magi wasted no time in planting themselves on the plush cushions surrounding the platters, but when Sugimi made no move to join them Herod leveled him with a hard stare.

"You will not join us, lord?" he raised a brow with barely visible suspicion, but enough was there to put Sugimi on edge. Immediately, he had no trust of this king. Still covered from head to toe in expensive silk and face-shielding scarves, Sugimi sent his interpreter a quick look to pass the message along that he had no need for nourishment. Their chain of interpreters twittered apologies and bowed deeply, diverting attention as Herod and Sugimi remained rigidly locked in a staring match. Eventually, under Sugimi's iron glare, Herod turned with a frown to the other two magi and listened intently as they elaborated on their divine mission.

"A star, you say?" Herod questioned. Sugimi smelled the mounting agitation in the man's already heady stench and warily observed him from the corner of his sight. "Rising where?"

"We know not the specific city, good king," The Parthian priest replied around a mouth full of food. "Only that he is born in the land of Judea. We come here to seek the knowledge of your scribes and priests so we may find him and do him homage. Surely they can aid us in finding the newborn king?" Herod repressed a grimace.

"Yes, yes," he fidgeted slightly, "I will assemble them readily and have them examine our scripture for the infant king's precise whereabouts. Please, retire here at my palace while you await your answer. I will have rooms prepared for you, and your caravans will be refreshed in my stables and servant quarters. Does this please you?"

They all agreed and reclined in the foyer until servants summoned them to their rooms. Each guestroom was luxuriously furnished, and while Sugimi felt no need to sleep, the pallet was surprisingly comfortable. He slipped into its softness as his mind slipped into suspicion. There was nothing honorable in King Herod's scent and it left Sugimi angry and restless. The sooner he and the other magi had their information, the sooner they could leave.

The storm of anger flashed quickly and subsided, but left behind a flood of guilt. Perhaps he should instead pray that Herod's scribes took their time, or better yet, proved inept at deciphering their own scripture. With no knowledge of this child-king's location, Sugimi was powerless to carry out his father's command. No child would die.

He shuddered violently. No child except _his_ child would die. No matter the extenuating circumstances, his precious Sesshoumaru would be killed by his own grandfather, and he and his mate would be made to watch in abject horror. His already weary heart spurred rapidly in panic. Would his father forgive his transgression and let Sesshoumaru live? Would it matter if he killed the human child? The last expression he remembered on his father's face had stirred the depth of his beast into a fear he'd long ago been taught to suppress.

Hopeless and troubled, Sugimi stared blankly at the ceiling. Lamplight filtered like honey through the stained glass lantern dangling near the veranda. A small cone of incense burned sweet herbs on the table beside his pallet. The rising smoke stoked his eyes red and with a sudden burst of unbridled rage Sugimi shot up, drew the kubikiri tonto from his obi and split the threading smoke into two clean ribbons. Sheathing the blade, he drew it again and again, increasing his speed until the tonto was more transparent than the smoke. When the cone was nothing but cinders, he stopped, breathing heavily, and tilted the blade against his palm. The muted light plated it in gold. It was a perfect blade, deadly with his perfect reflexes. Killing the human child would pose no struggle except within himself, but what choice did he have? It was one life for another. A father and mother were destined to suffer by his hand. Would he slaughter an infant in his mother's arms? Could he forsake his mate and child to save a nameless human? No matter the path he walked, his soul would be abandoned here, in a city where no one cared either way.

Sugimi lay back down and held the tonto up to the light, testing his thumb against the blade. A clean line of warm blood dripped down and splattered under his eye. He could end it right here, in this room already swathed in crimson linen, but such a death would bring more than dishonor. It would condemn every life held in his father's hands. Sugimi had no choice but to choose. If an innocent had to suffer, the least he could do was live out his days as penance.

A soft, sudden wind whispered over the date palms outside his window and blew out his lantern, blanketing the room in darkness. Shivering, Sugimi laid the dagger on the table opposite the incense burner and shoved it away with his grief. Giving himself over to the calmness of the balmy night, he rested his body even as his mind and soul waged war.

Three days passed before Herod sent one servant to each of the three foreign lords' chambers with news of his scribes' success. Their messages seemed conspicuously covert, at least to Sugimi, for unlike their arrival no festivities were thrown for this meeting. Instead Herod brought them to his private study. The room was well-lined with scrolls and missives from cultures spanning the nearby territories, but was stifling in its clutter and odor. On the western wall an enormous fireplace gaped like a lion's maw. Flames roared up from smoldering cedar wood, scribbling shadows across the scrolls and etching a predator's eyes into the room's silver lamp stands. As darkness loomed over his face and deceit oozed out of his skin, Herod and the Inu no Taisho seemed indistinguishable. The king's brown eyes glittered gold in the undulating light. His black hair could have been the Inu no Taisho's deep forest green. With a sneer that included everything but fangs, the illusion was flawless.

Sugimi sucked in a breath beneath his facial scarf, the vision planting seeds of doubt and fear deep in his heart. Urging the meeting to order, Herod was quick to forgo formalities in favor of directness. He leaned forward, thrusting his round, wrinkled face into the firelight, and Sugimi's haunting vision dissipated like smoke. Blinking rapidly, he didn't know if he should be thrilled or sick.

"Lords," Herod began pointedly, "My scribes have toiled without rest to gift you with an indisputable answer, and today, their struggle is for naught. It is written through a prophet that the child is born in the town of Bethlehem."

The Parthian and Yuezhi magi erupted with wild excitement. Herod allowed a few moments of praise with tense restraint before raising his hand, demanding silence. Sugimi observed quietly from the corner. Even the musty air of these ancient tomes could not compare to the heavy stench of deception woven through Herod's scent.

"I have a humble request of you lords, if you would lend your aid." He stood and bowed elaborately. Sugimi grit his teeth behind his mask.

"Oh yes, anything!" The Yuezhi priest exclaimed. "You have been much too generous for us to deny you!"

"I thank you," Herod's lips twisted in a wiry grin, "My request is only this: Go and search diligently for the child. When you have found him, bring me word that I, too, may go and do him homage."

The two human magi heartily agreed and bowed repeatedly in gratitude, resembling pecking hens more than noble magi. Repressing a shudder of uncertainty, Sugimi's hand fell upon the hilt of the tonto buried beneath the folds of his robes. He silently followed Herod's men to the stables and found his fox guardsman, giving quiet directions as the other magi shouted orders through their chain of command. With a bustle of activity, each caravan was reloaded, resupplied and sent on its way toward Bethlehem. The journey only took a little over an hour, but enough time had passed between Herod's announcement and gathering the convoys to have the stars peeking out at twilight.

"This is good," The Parthian priest commented. "It will be easier for us to map his rising star with the clear evening sky to guide us." With a grunt of consensus, the three lords lead their caravans over the brow of the last hill separating the desert from child-king's tiny village. With direction gleaned from the timid townspeople, his hut was easy to find, which, for Sugimi, made it all the more perplexing.

This _shack_ was the house of a _king_?

The house was nothing more than a square outcropping of dried mud fashioned into three poorly delineated chambers. A pile of chopped wood stood as tall as himself against one wall of the house, charred by the noonday sun and rolling the pungent odor of cedar like plumes of incense over the gravel road. Children still played in the fading light, kicking up dust as they distracted themselves with some sort of ball-game. The smallest one, a spry human boy no older than 5 years, ran after the group's ball when the tallest boy made a wild kick in the three lords' direction. Running at full speed, he skidded to a graceless halt right before colliding head-first into Sugimi's shin. The boy ignored the two human magi and gazed at Sugimi with open adoration. The riches of the caravans lagging on the hill's plateau were not even enough to draw his rapt attention away.

Staring the child down was proving to be ineffectual for several reasons, not the least of which was the boy's apparent preference for curiosity over fear. More disturbing, though, was the light that shown unabashedly in his young eyes. They mirrored the innocent wonder that greeted Sugimi every morning on his son's face, and with a sharp reminder of his guilt, he knew he'd recognize that light in the child he was ordered to kill, the defenseless baby who lived in the meager house before him.

Anxious, Sugimi gestured toward the Parthian interpreter and bid him with a quick glance to question the boy fidgeting at their feet. A harried conversation passed between them, but when the boy skipped ahead to the hut's open door and beckoned them inside, Sugimi's stoic demeanor turned tail and fled. He briefly fought the urge to retreat before chastising himself angrily. He was the Inu-Youkai Prince of Western Japan. When did he become a coward? Without so much as a nod of acknowledgment, he bypassed the other two priests as they fussed over gift parcels and strode determinedly to the hut's main door. Crossing the threshold of copper dusk into pitch black, Sugimi wrapped a shaking hand around his tonto's hilt.

It was extremely dark inside the house, and so dusty he had to blink the floating debris from his eyes. His pupils expanded until the contrast evened out across room, highlighting a long wood-planked table standing simply but proudly in the room's center. One shaft of setting sunlight funneled through a small, high window, drawing his attention to a young girl cooing over a half-naked baby at the far end of the table. Sugimi stared in building awe as the gilded rays ensconced them in a shimmering halo of holy energy. His grip on the tonto slackened until his finger slipped along the blade, drawing blood and jarring his focus. Youki coursed through his veins as he found the hilt again, its carved onyx burning against his skin, the blade howling for use. Taking another step into the room, the tonto's evil youki swelled against his gate of control, slipping through the cracks to glide in rivulets across the mother and her infant. The girl stilled and glanced up. When she caught sight of the demon lord looming in her doorway, she turned whiter than a corpse.

For several tense moments they watched each other, wide-eyed and unflinching. Extending more of his own youki through the room's periphery, he picked apart her aura and nearly gasped at his discovery. The girl had clearly given birth no more than three weeks ago, but she still retained the pure scent of a virgin. It was impossible, unless an extraordinary amount of holy power was involved. There was no denying the reality of his fate now. She was indeed the child-king's mother. She would be his crime, his sacrifice and his redemption.

Sugimi drew the tonto fully from its sheath but kept it guarded under his robes. One swing and the baby would be butchered in his hands before the mother or other magi could blink. One kill and his son would live. He took a menacing step and the mother shrank back into the shadows. Another step and the blade moaned against silk. As Sugimi stalked into the ghostly light, the girl saw the tonto shine under his hand. She cried out for her baby.

"Yeshua!"

The agony on her face held him for ransom and suddenly she looked no different than his mate running for Sesshoumaru. Panic bubbled in his gut. The tonto trembled against his stomach.

'_What am I doing?'_

Glancing warily at the tiny infant, Sugimi's breath abandoned him.

Ageless, ancient eyes studied him from a fragile face. One flick of his dagger and Sugimi could cleave the baby in two, but frighteningly, the child seemed to know. Any other infant would be squirming obliviously, but this child held him fast, working through the fine threads of his soul with more painful precision than Sugimi had used with the boy's mother. He suffered through the stirrings of each repressed memory until he nearly collapsed under the weight of his guilt.

_'I have _always_ been a coward.' _he condemned himself.

Moments flashed in time from his birth to the present. When the child's aura focused on the Inu no Taisho's plot, Sugimi dropped his head, riddled with shame. He stood accused and defenseless, fearing a torturous purification even though he knew he deserved nothing less. As time stretched on in reckoning, Sugimi closed his eyes and sought Sesshoumaru's face. He detailed every curve of his son's tiny features. He recalled the softness of his skin and his newborn scent. How could he live with himself if he took that away from this woman? How could he trade life so easily?

The answer was simple. He couldn't. Sugimi breathed deeply, opened his eyes and surrendered.

Glancing up to face his fate, he blanched. The infant blinked at him slowly and sweetly, caressing his gentle aura against Sugimi's cloth-covered cheek. When he should have been condemned to hell, the newborn child with the eyes of a God gave Sugimi something unfathomable. Tears came unbidden and it took all his strength not to fall down weeping.

The blade clattered to his feet.

He was forgiven.

Shaking beneath his armor, Sugimi threw himself into a bow and clapped his large hands against the dirt floor. With the baby now guarded snuggly in her arms, the mother visibly shook as she watched him warily. She would have fainted if the other magi had waited any longer to enter.

With a flourish, they prostrated themselves in veneration of the tiny child, spreading their gifts of wealth around the crude floor of the poor hut like royal robes on a pauper, but Sugimi was oblivious to their busy movements as his mind traveled back through his journeys, searching through parchments of conversations, looking for one in particular that suddenly begged his attention. The jewels encrusted on their coffers directed him with tongues of the hearth fire forming words in their facets. Entranced, he focused on those jewels, and let their rainbow colors paint a picture from the annals of his memory.

The morning was unbearably humid when he wandered through the marble courtyard of King Ashoka's palace over 200 years ago, but then, what should he have expected from the tropical summers in India? The sky was clear as quartz above him, and the flawless alabaster polish of the palace walls and domes reflected its purity so exquisitely Sugimi wondered if the pantheon of local gods would greet him around the corner. What other city could ever look so heavenly? King Ashoka had spared no expense, plating paths in gold and jewels. From the distance every building he commissioned, not just his palace, resembled the dazzling Northern Lights Sugimi had only witnessed across the Arctic ocean.

"Sugimi-sama!" The King's greeting boomed across the courtyard, its perfect acoustics ringing, as he walked with a handful of advisors to meet his foreign friend. Well past the prime of his life, Ashoka thrived on a virile spirit and an active interest in the prosperity of his lands. He proclaimed himself the People's King, vowing long ago to renounce the passion of conquest for the welfare of his countrymen. Secretly, Sugimi had looked up to him, hoping his rule as Inu no Taisho would more closely resemble that of this human king instead of his own cruel father. Regardless, Ashoka had his own admiration for the mysteries of Sugimi's people, and used as many Japanese phrases as he could remember whenever Sugimi was there.

"Sugimi-sama! Konnichi wa!" He stressed the proper pronunciation as he clasped a firm hand on Sugimi's armor-clad shoulder, grinning with the swagger of a young man, "You're just in time!"

"Is there something special happening today, Ashoka-sama?"

"Quite," he beamed, "A few of the Buddhist monks I sent to evangelize to the Greeks in the far west have returned with some interesting stories. I'm sure you'd like to hear them."

Sugimi chuckled. "You know me too well, your majesty."

They had spoken often during their audiences of Ashoka's deep love of Buddhism, the infant faith he had converted to after a bloody war that left him broken with guilt. With him, Sugimi could indulge in a side of his nature that no one besides his mate knew he possessed, that of a thirsting, questioning mind. Sugimi explored the world more to learn than to relax. It was as much a mental escape as it was a physical retreat from his father's demands, and Sugimi immersed himself in the moments he could explore with wise men like Ashoka. He knew the basic tenets of many of the mainland philosophies, and deeply wished he had time to discover more.

This was his chance to hear first hand about lands he may never reach, and he was sure Ashoka wouldn't let him squander it. The king ushered Sugimi into his private parlor where a surprisingly young monk knelt, waiting in patient silence.

"Mohinder," the king addressed the monk, garnering full and immediate attention with that typhoon voice of his, "Now that my friend Sugimi-sama is here, I beg you to share what you've seen and heard from your journey west."

"With great honor, my king," the monk bowed. When he looked up, his face was full of wonder. "The majority of my mission was spent in a rural area near Egypt."

"Egypt," the King breathed, mystified, and leaned closer to the monk, as if less space would mean he'd find the secrets faster. "Anywhere near Alexandria?"

"Yes, but the true discovery lay along my journey. I passed through a land that was an oddity of any around it, worshiping only the God Yahweh and preserving as much wisdom scripture as your kingdom keeps."

"Really?" By this point, Sugimi was leaning farther forward than Ashoka, "go on."

"I conversed with several priests of this culture in various cities and towns. They shared with me their scripture as I shared the sacred sutras of the Buddha. Theirs was so richly detailed, so ancient and yet similar enough that its words left a lasting impression upon me." He scooted closer, trying to be inconspicuous but his excitement wouldn't allow it. "They speak of an Enlightened One, or Anointed One as they call him, a _Messiah_, that will come to clear the way for communion with the Dharma."

"You mean, like the future Buddha prophesied in your sutras?"

Sugimi meant it as a simple question, but both humans gaped at him until Ashoka burst their bewilderment with a hearty laugh. He turned to the monk in earnest. "Could that be the case? That the future Buddha Maitreya has also been prophesied so far away from here?"

The monk looked like he didn't know what to make of this connection, somewhat perplexed he hadn't thought of it himself. "That could be the case, your majesty. This Anointed One is supposed to usher in an era of peace and prosperity and lead his people out of their slavery under foreign kings to the heavenly city Zion, the home of their God, which is a land of pure bliss and radiant beauty. The description of it left me quite in awe."

"Hmm. Freedom and oppression begin here," Ashoka lay his hand over his heart. "Not in physical slavery by any outside empire. I have learned this truth the hard way."

Sugimi raised a brow. "Do you not think these people will have their Mess-ai-ah then, and will never be exposed to such peace?"

"I did not say that," Ashoka conceded. "Their Anointed One may come, but if they hear his words and don't listen, what can he do? He can give his entire life for their salvation, but if, by their pride, they leave him to die how can he be reborn in their hearts? They must follow his way, his truth, his life. Only then will he lead them to his God's pure land."

The king smiled at him widely, his eyes alight with visions of the future. "You may yet live to see him, my friend. If someday you find my reincarnation, please let me know if this _Messiah_ has come."

Sugimi had left that meeting with King Ashoka introspective and lucid. The prophesy told by the wandering monk had stirred his interest, but now, his soul was stripped bare. The monk's descriptions wheeled around his head. Could it be? The child he looked upon and bowed to, born in the desert on the road to Egypt, was more than a teacher, he was more than powerful, he was–

–Drooling with innocent glee all over the gold nuggets picked out from the Parthian magi's coffer. For his part, the Parthian priest wore quite the impressive mask of patience, even though Sugimi could smell the nervousness bubbling under the guise of his twittering laughter. The young mother tried to apologize and pull the baby away, but his wriggling fingers flitted around the nuggets as they refracted the light from the window. Clearly, it was the light that held the child entranced. Sugimi's realization pulled him into the same realm of wonder. No child his age should have such keen focus on something so blinding, but here, this child reached determinedly toward the dancing light as if reaching for his parent.

_'He's aware of himself. He's aware of everyone.'_ Sugimi gasped in recollection of the child's journey through his memories. Tears returned in hopeful humility. _'Holy child, do you know me now?'_

The baby instantly stopped toying with the priceless gifts and focused on Sugimi. Something blossomed in his chest. He nearly heaved in desperation.

_'Do you know my son?_'

The child blinked. The mother followed his line of sight with a curious expression and startled at the distinct sheen in Sugimi's eyes.

_'Help him. Please help my son.'_ He begged in his mind. _'Please! Please...help me.'_

Polished metal grated across the floor, tilling the dirt with its weight and stopping just before Sugimi's knees. Blinking at the intrusion, he noticed a clawed hand attached to the coffer his father had forced him to bring. He glanced up and leveled a baffled stare at his kitsune guardsman, who eyed him keenly and then left with a curt bow. Looking around, Sugimi saw a similarly expectant look on the faces of the other magi and realized he must have been staring for much longer than he should. He shook himself mentally, trying with little success to focus on the task at hand. It was nearly impossible with the child's soothing aura climbing over his shoulders and lap, patting his face and tugging his hair. How could they sit there so calmly unaffected?

Couldn't they _feel_ it?

Shrugging aside that persistent tingle, he gingerly, hesitantly lifted the coffer's enameled and filigreed lid, revealing copious amber nuggets of the pungent myrrh. A heavy hush draped over the room, punctuated with the infant boy's happy burbles. The mother and magi gaped in unadulterated shock.

Suddenly his father's words crept up behind him, looming ominously, snarling like an enemy overhead. _"Myrrh..." _

Sugimi's blood turned to stone in his veins.

_"it is used in funerary rites to purify the corpse."_

Humiliated, his hands itched to bolt the coffer closed, to toss it in the deepest recesses of the earth and wipe their eyes clean of this deceit. The mother shivered, her face stroked in tearful calligraphy, their willowy lines magnifying the firelight. The magi locked their thoughts behind inscrutable serenity; as if they'd doused themselves with tar, their scents retracted under their skin, completely contained. Sugimi realized as holy men they'd had the ability to evade his senses since the very beginning, but nothing had warranted they do so until this mortifying moment. Now with the gravity of their affront plainly apparent, he had no idea how to proceed. He wanted so badly to make amends for this grave insult, but what could he do to assure them he meant no harm?

The Yuezhi priest literally took the decision out of his hands as he reached for Sugimi's coffer and placed it directly in front of the other two gifts, drawing a hierarchical map between them, with myrrh enthroned over the frankincense and gold like a despotic judge. He and the Persian bowed low, spreading their hands wide in homage. Too distraught to do anything else, Sugimi mimicked them.

After a few hymns the father arrived, or at least the girl's husband. A quick sniff told Sugimi the man and child were not blood related, but then, the boy's purity was potent enough to mask the stench of decay that shadowed humans from their first moment after birth. Perhaps it shrouded the lineage normally imbued from parent to child as well. Polite protocol took precedence between the father and the other magi, while Sugimi stood, forgotten, and retreated with his guilt to a shadowy corner. Only the mother glanced at him occasionally. Her eyes tried to coax him out, her head tipped in welcome like a little girl bearing a bouquet of fresh picked flowers. Where did she come by this sudden blind trust of him, a perfect killer, the beast who flaunted a gift of death in her face?

She bounced her baby and they shared a secret look, then both looked up and sought him out in the darkness.

_"Please come back,"_ her spirit seemed to whisper. Without compunction, he took a step...

And the magi stood in a flourish, making a grand show of departure. The mother sighed petulantly, knowing he was going to leave with them, but Sugimi ignored her and strode for the door without a single goodbye. He couldn't subject himself to one last moment in the child's illuminant spirit. He didn't deserve it.

His strides were long and quick, but somehow the other magi caught up behind him. They studied him fiercely, and he steeled himself for an indignant tongue-lashing.

"With due respect, young prince," the Yuezhi shook his head, "you make us look bad."

Sugimi stopped abruptly, and they might as well have run head first into a fortress, his frame was that unforgiving. At his questioning look, the Parthian dusted off his clothes and elaborated bombastically, "To think this entire journey you carried so much priceless perfume! If I had known, I dare say I'd do my best to persuade you to sell me a pinch."

They both lifted a brow at Sugimi's clipped remark to his interpreter, and the poor, intimidated man chose Persian to make his request known. "Why would you want such a thing?" His voice trembled.

Baffled, the magi nearly tripped again over their brocade robes. "W-why?" the Parthian sputtered, "The amount you brought is easily worth more than both our gifts combined! Its use for incense, oils, salves, cleanliness..." he grinned broadly, "wine!"

"Wine?" the Yuezhi, who enjoyed feigning the role of a strict Buddhist except when it came to the heady lure of pipe smoke, a buffet of foreign delicacies, or any ready temptation, rolled his eyes with a chuckle, "I wouldn't know."

"I assume you do not, either?" the Parthian sighed to Sugimi, "Well, I know what to order when we settle in for the night."

"I was warned myrrh is mainly used for burials," Sugimi clarified, "but it was too late to procure another gift. I am troubled by how it must have appeared to the young mother."

"Ah," the magi sobered, "It can be, but that is most certainly not its primary use. Have you been under that impression this entire time?" At Sugimi's reluctant nod yes, the Parthian tutted in distaste, "What a horrible thought. Whoever tricked you has wicked sense of humor."

Sugimi paled, unable to find his voice to agree.

_-----_

The night fell around a hearth fire, with prisms dancing on mud walls as the coffers' gems threw their colors in vigorous leaps inside the small family's hut. Sugimi watched the rainbows twinkle through the home's tiny windows from atop the dune's brow. The caravans had parked in the shallow valley behind him, but their finery spread out across the sand couldn't compare to the festival of lights below. As they eventually faded and the hearth was snuffed for the evening, he finally convinced himself there was no turning back from his decision.

Since his first look at the child, Sugimi should have known he couldn't kill him. It wasn't fear or cowardice that stayed his hand, but the knowledge in that gentle gaze, the awareness and kindness, and the hope that swelled in response to his silent promise. Surrounded by such a berth of power, it was easy to be merciful, but sitting so far away in the empty bowl of night, Sugimi struggled with the reality of his choice.

Where would that brief haven of solace leave him when he faced his father empty handed? How could the wealth of the holy child's forgiveness afford the bondage of his own beloved son? His father did not relent threats as Sugimi did. He would reprobate his heir with a crown of death and pierce him with the torment of his weakness, roping his hands and nailing his feet under the hammer of an iron fist.

So far away from his refuge, isolated in the dryness of the desert, Sugimi wept his inevitable hell.

_'Help him. Please help my son.'_ He begged to the deafening darkness. _'Please! Please...help me.'_

_-----_

_-----_

_-----_

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**Mini-Encyclopedia, ahoy:**

**Yeshua **is the Aramaic (or Late Hebrew) pronunciation of the name we call "Jesus" in english. It can mean "Shout to God for help" or "God saves". It was actually a pretty popular name at this point in history, showing up in several later books of the Old Testament. It's derived from the earlier Hebrew "Yehoshua" which translates into Joshua. There was a pretty famous dude who first appeared in the book of Exodus name Joshua, and technically, we should be calling his later namesake "Josh Christ". I'm not joshing you...but I do make some craptastic puns.  
**What to see something fun?** Follow this link: http: // en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/Yeshua_(name) - minus the spaces - and read the fourth paragraph under "Etymology". Interesting root word in the third sentence, don't you think? (Hint: stick "Inu" in front of it)

**Lord Ashoka** is so kickass (proverbially speaking) I can't adequately describe him here. He was India's emperor between 273-232 BC and did, in fact, send envoys of Buddhist evangelists far across the countries neighboring his empire, including Egypt and Greece. Check out his info page on:  
http: // en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Ashoka  
http: // en. wikiquote. org/ wiki/ Ashoka

**Dharma** (or Dhamma as it's called in other dialects or in the singular) can mean subtly different things across Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism, but generally refers to Higher Law or Truth, the ultimate reality of the universe. In Buddhism in particular, which is how Ashoka would've meant it, it refers to the full collection of Buddha's teachings. It has aspects in common with the Christian term "Logos", or Word of God, of which Jesus was said to be a bodily incarnation of in the Gospel of John. Interestingly, "Logos" refers more to logic, reason or meaning; specifically, a discourse, as opposed to something to being told _to_ you.  
http: // en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Dharma

**Maitreya** is the future Buddha prophesied in early traditions of the faith, passed along orally for centuries before being committed to the written Pali Canon in the 1st century BCE. Many have claimed to be this future Buddha, who is said to clear the way for complete understanding of the Dharma, but I just couldn't resist the comparison to Jesus, especially considering the idea that Jesus himself is supposed to have a Second Coming.  
(**BTW, fun fact:** Miroku is actually the Japanese translation for Maitreya. We all know HE'S not the one they're waiting for, and if he is...well, we're all doomed to be groped for eternity...)  
http: // en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Maitreya  
http: // en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Pali_Canon  
**This is really random**, but if you read anything on Maitreya by a Benjamin Creme, please take it with a grain of salt. IMHO, his view is more a new age bastardization of the original Maitreya prophesy.

**Zion** was originally referred to as a real place, a fortress on the southeastern hill of Jerusalem conquered by the Hebrew King David and later renamed for the entirety of Jerusalem, otherwise known as the City of David. Zion was later applied to the hill where the Temple stood, and in turn came to denote the Temple area itself. Zion is symbolic of the Promised Land and of heaven or God's dwelling-place with his people. It's the heavenly connotation that I use for this story.  
http: // en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Zion


	3. Chapter 3

Well. This was _supposed_ to be completed the week before _Christmas_. Um... not so much! But when I went to mass tonight the first reading was the story of Abraham and Isaac, which plays a prominent part in this chapter. So I took that as a swift, heavenly kick in the pants to get this fic finished before freaking EASTER. I'm still not completely content with this chappie, though. Feel free to share constructive crits. _Danke._

Disclaimer: Please reference chapter 1. No own! No money!

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"The Lord placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." - Genesis 3:24

"Do not think that I came to bring peace on the earth; I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I came to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a man's enemies will be the members of his household. He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; and he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me. He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it." - Matthew 10:34-39

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**The Lord's Son: Chapter 3**

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He walked through a valley, through a shadow cast by a brilliant light emanating from behind the lofty, winnowed peaks. Innately, he could tell his altitude was high, the path he traveled wound for miles behind him, and he was almost near the end of the mountain pass. The gorge was so narrow he could place his hands on either side of the moss-strewn cliffs without stretching. Their softness registered like lightning up his fingers. Dizzy with the shock, he let the current of life guide him up the smooth sandstone bluffs, noting idly how they sparkled gold in the gilded rays. Sugimi guessed he traveled west, since a light that blinding could only belong to the setting sun.

Within a few steps the valley opened to a cliff studded with all kinds of plants: grass of various heights, palms, ferns, maples, oaks. A sakura tree dressed in sparkling spring blossoms bowed like a princess over a reedy stream burbling under a small rock alcove. Strange. He didn't recall passing a waterfall or river that would feed this garden. Turning to face the light, Sugimi only gave it a passing thought as the sight on the plain below struck him dumb.

King Ashoka could have built monuments until the end of his days and would never accomplish anything like the acropolis spread out in the rolling valley. No sun was visible, or necessary in the wake of its luminance. Built entirely of gold that moved like liquid, and jewels that schooled like fish, it was a living, breathing treasure.

He squinted to gain a bearing of the city's dimensions. A solid wall of shining adamant standing as impenetrably thick as it was tall squared off a vast courtyard upon a prominent hill. Only three enormous, equidistant gates interrupted the wall, respectively facing the eastern, northern and southern winds. Each was framed by a vaulted portico extending several feet toward a majestic inner sanctuary. A raised altar sat in the sanctuary's center and a column of imposing, ornate buildings extended in graduating heights from the altar to the rear western wall. Combined with three small, squat structures surrounding the altar, their shape resembled a cross with its head facing the east gate, welcoming whomever would enter through the largest and brightest threshold. He could feel and see a radiant charge of holy power sparking from the main western building; the source of the city's glory sprung from it like a fiery fountainhead.

"Does a God live there, like the kami shrines back home?" He shivered absently, "Their power would collect like mere grains of sand on the beach of this God's might."

As his eyes absorbed more detail, the structure made itself more familiar: many arrangements were strikingly reminiscent of the human's temples in his homeland, although where theirs were dependent upon a variety of sacred woods, this temple was their vision perfected in precious stones. The foundation gleamed like rough-hewn sapphire. The battlements banking the wall, demarcating three recessed alcoves on either side of each gate and lining the entire east gate like a grand Torii, were composed of innumerable cabochon rubies. Some interior galleries were supported with elegant pillars and balustrades of pine, fir and cypress, fragrant trees abundant in this strange western land.

"This place," Sugimi blinked in awe, "is the most amazing temple I've ever seen."

He wandered closer to the edge of his mountain cliff to get a better look, suspended between a crushing insignificance and expansive enlightenment, and another fortified wall rose up into view. Its walls enclosed a golden city surrounding the temple mount. This wall was even thicker than the one guarding the temple, its bricks as pure as tumbled quartz. Twelve garrisoned gates positioned themselves in this wall, three on each side, with each of its twelve foundations a different gem. Jasper, sapphire, amethyst, emerald, carnelian... he could barely name all the colors blended in rainbow striations. The effect stunned him, as if the prisms he'd watched last night in the holy child's house leapt under a magnifying glass. The twelve pearlescent gates only served to intensify the vertiginous sight.

Sugimi looked away, shaking the spin out of his head. Once righted, he moved his focus to the treasures growing live on the city's grounds. Seven paths wound through dense groves of fanned palm trees strung with gold, silver and crystal netting, meandering and merging like branches up to the three temple gates, one path for the north gate, one for the south and five for the east. Flowers blooming with gemstone petals outlined each path. A greedier man would fall down weeping at his fortune, imagining how best to line his pockets and carry it all away. Sugimi wondered why anyone would want to leave this place, who would fathom squandering its worth when he could remain submerged in its sublime bliss.

With that thought, he glanced up and saw it: the source of the small creek behind him. Beginning as a musical trickle at the temple's east gate, a river flowed down from the God's house. Its sheen was as clear and still as Amaterasu's sacred mirror, and it grew in depth and width until it emptied into seven vast lakes, each separated from being one endless sea only by a thin webbing of orchards. The lakes' dimensions didn't obey the laws of space or perspective. They seemed to stretch for miles, fostering life in limitless forms, and yet somehow all fit inside the city gates. Each was small and private – personal – yet infinite. In one moment he could see their entirety, and in another flash they extended beyond the scope of even his enhanced vision. Trees of all kinds clustered innumerably along every bank, bearing a plentiful feast of bejeweled fruit; golden pears, silver dates, emerald olives and ruby pomegranates, among others. Small staircases led down into the north, south, east and west sides of each lake. Millions of fish flashed their shining scales under their glassy surfaces. Birds of every plumage chirped bells in the treetops. Multi-hued lotuses waded serenely on the water. Every living thing expelled its essence in a refreshing perfume, and even from such a distance, Sugimi indulged in it effortlessly. He sucked in a great draught of its heady power, growing lightheaded.

Sugimi felt his eyes cross. "A simple mortal could never experience this and live. Surely he would combust with the pressure."

Suddenly, someone cleared their throat behind him. As disoriented as he was, Sugimi still couldn't break away from the city's spell, so the person cleared their throat again. With no success, they tried a third time, and then again, gaining volume until Sugimi was too irritated to ignore them any longer. Pivoting with a deep-set scowl, he found a sandy haired young man clothed in white linen and a thin gold belt standing casually atop the alcove, his hands clasped behind his back. He blinked at Sugimi with surprise.

"Well," he smiled, "I never knew I'd get my chance to chat directly with a demon." Ignoring Sugimi's obvious growl, he continued, "Of course, your kind is not exactly like the demons I'd fight. They'd not be as debonair, I'm sure."

"State your business or die." Sugimi barked.

A slightly disgruntled look passed over the man's face before he shrugged his shoulders with a long sigh and raised his right arm high above his head, pointing at a swath of stars. Sugimi assumed the man, who plainly looked human, planned to fight him, and he couldn't hold back a laugh. This runt thought he could best the mighty Dog Prince? Slipping readily into a fighting stance, he waited with a feral grin.

When the man opened his mouth and thunder poured out, Sugimi's sword clattered to the ground. He knelt in unrestrained awe as the man's voice resonated through the valley rock, chipping away landslides and breaking its very foundations. White wings like a crane unfurled from his back and stood so high they touched the firmament, spreading those stars like tadpoles fleeing a rock tossed in a pond. Sugimi growled as he surrendered. The bastard had _literally_ barely lifted a finger.

"I concede! End it!" Sugimi roared, expecting the winged creature to kill him and claim his victory. It was a pitiful demise, but unavoidable considering the man's unearthly power. Instead, with no small amount of humiliated annoyance on Sugimi's part, the man just folded his wings, shut his mouth and beamed a healthy smile.

"I've always wanted to do that!" He quipped.

"That was just for show?" Sugimi bellowed. His right eye began to twitch. "Damn you to hell, you insufferable ass!"

"I'm afraid that's not really possible. My faith is much too solid, I'm sorry."

"Why, are you a god of some sort?"

"No. I'm not of this earth, obviously, but I'm more along the lines of...well, what would you call it in your culture? Oh yes, a tennyo...I think."

"That's madness! If you are a heavenly woman, send me to hell right now!"

"Oh wait!" The man laughed heartily. "Ten-_shi_. I meant tenshi, yes."

"The gods would make a heavenly messenger out of a twit like you?" Sugimi frowned skeptically. The holy man brushed Sugimi's question away with a breezy flip of his wing and sat upon the largest boulder jutting over the stream.

"I don't think there is an accurate translation for what I am in your language. In the native tongue of my young Lord, I am called _mal'ach Elohim_."

"And in your own native tongue?"

"Oh," The man looked innocently downcast. "But I just told you."

"You mean that obnoxious screeching was your name?!"

"Humph," He crossed his arms and turned his nose up like a spoiled child. "I don't expect a demon like you to understand the language of God."

Sugimi's glower suddenly flared into scorching hate, and the man was pointedly aware he had opened a floodgate, although he had no idea what he said wrong. The pain emanating from the young demon collided with pinpricks of insistent thought as the winged man's God tapped upon his soul, reminding him of his task and guiding his humor to determination. Squaring his shoulders, he stood atop the rock. He had dawdled enough. Now was time for his message.

"Son of the Dog King," a voice boomed above Sugimi, and when he looked up he was dazzled out of his dark thoughts. The winged man, standing with the solemn presence of a warrior, radiated with streams of chalcedony light. His silhouette stood in striking contrast, his body cast in bronze and his golden hair waving with the diamond luster of lamb's wool. Sugimi couldn't help but be humbled. Collapsing to the ground, he hung his head in defeat.

"Dog Prince," the man announced again, this time with fervency that forced Sugimi's attention. "I know not what pains you, but my Lord has told me of your bravery. Heed his request that you deny Herod the information he seeks on the divine child, and my Lord will honor you with safe return to your homeland."

"I cannot go back there," Sugimi groaned. The weight of his duty and denial hung heavy in his chest, pulling him down into the pit of despair. He fought back a howl, then snarled as his anger surged. "I will not go back! Without the body and blood of the child-king my father will know of my disobedience. My only son will be slaughtered before my eyes and the eyes of his mother. I cannot return until I have devised a way to save him, but I have nothing! He will die for my weakness!"

"If you ask, my Lord and God will aid you."

"How?" Sugimi spat in rage, "What could your _Lord_ possibly do?"

At this the holy man readily responded, but not with the volume of his earth-quaking voice nor the spectacle of his astral power. Instead, he rested upon the ledge with his legs tucked beneath him and patiently waited for Sugimi to calm.

"He understands you, Dog Prince." The man whispered. "If I explain how, will you listen?"

Sugimi snorted around the lump in his throat. "What more do I have to lose?"

The man regarded him softly and nodded. "Then I'm going to tell you a story.

_"In the beginning my Lord's Son chose his path, but it left the Lord in sorrow. He wasn't sure if his people would understand. So he tested a faithful man named Abraham._

_The Lord called to him and Abraham replied, 'Here I am!'_

_The Lord spoke, 'Abraham, take your son, Isaac, whom you love so much, and go to the land of Moriah. There on a mountain that I will show you, offer him as a sacrifice to me.'"_

Sugimi's vision swam, engorged with sudden agony.

_"Abraham was greatly fearful, for he could not fathom the Lord's request. He trusted him and listened nonetheless. Early the next morning Abraham cut some wood for the sacrifice, loaded it upon a donkey and took Isaac and two servants to the place the Lord had told him about. They traveled for three days, and on the third day Abraham saw the land of Moriah rise up in the distance._

_He turned to his servants and said, 'Stay here with the donkey. My son and I will go over there to pray and give praise to the Lord. Then we will come back for you.'_

_Abraham made Isaac carry the wood, placing a large beam across his shoulders while Abraham himself carried a dagger and live coals for starting the fire."_

Sugimi fumbled for his father's tanto under his robes, but it was missing.

_"As they walked along, Abraham's heart heavy with his burden and vow, Isaac spoke up in curiosity._

_'Father!' he exclaimed._

_Abraham answered, 'Yes, my son?'_

_'I see you have the coals and dagger, and I carry the wood, but where is the lamb for the sacrifice?'"_

Sugimi envisioned Sesshoumaru smiling at him from his mother's arms.

_"Abraham replied, 'The Lord himself will provide one.'"_

He caressed the kanji on his pup's headstone as it blurred against his tears.

_"And the two of them walked on together in silence._

_When they came to Moriah, Abraham built an altar. Trembling, he tied his son to the wood, one hand bound to each end of the plank so his arms were spread wide, and then laid him on the altar. He took a deep breath, picked up his dagger, and moved to kill his son._

_The Lord saw what Abraham was about to do, and was moved with great compassion. Abraham understood. So the Lord sent me…a messenger to stop him._

_'Abraham! Abraham, listen!'"_

In his mind, Sugimi dropped to his knees with white flowers in his hand, and cried aloud at the sight before him.

_"Startled and afraid, Abraham spun around, 'Yes! I'm here!'_

_I…the messenger answered, 'Don't hurt the boy or do anything to him. Now my Lord knows that you share his love, because you have not kept back your beloved son from his presence.'"_

Sesshoumaru's grave was empty.

_"Abraham fell to his feet, astonished and shaking in relief. The messenger knelt beside him and said, 'Remember this day and what you now understand, and the descendants of your heart will be as many as the stars in heaven. With your same love and faith, they will conquer the world.'_

_Abraham looked around and spotted a young ram caught in the bush by its horns. He went and got it, and offered it as a burnt offering instead of his own son. He named the mountaintop "The Lord Provides" and forever recalled the Lord's promise."_

The winged man stopped and closed his eyes. The stream hummed softy in the background, tinkling across stones as the story washed through Sugimi's thoughts.

"Do you see, Dog Prince?" the man murmured, "My Lord has prepared a lamb for you as well. Listen to him, and your son will be spared."

Sugimi wavered in hope, "I want to spare life, not trade it. Why should anyone have to die at all?"

The man reassured him gently, "This lamb chooses his own fate. Do not mourn or blame him. My Lord knows his tribulation, and will have mercy. The lamb will be given new life."

Sugimi trembled, afraid to believe. His son..._Sesshoumaru..._

"Do you accept?" The winged man asked.

"What do you mean?"

"My Lord's promise. What I speak to you is his covenant offered. Do you accept?"

"He...he would save my son...as he saved the boy, Isaac?"

"He will, if you trust him to fulfill his word. He bids me give you one more sign of his faithfulness." Stretching his massive wings, the man rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck and knuckles, and steeled himself with a noble posture, leveling a solid stare at Sugimi. It was stringent enough to make the Dog Prince take a step back and glower.

"I don't appreciate," Sugimi warned him, mentally berating the fear fluttering in his gut, "being ogled."

"Open your mouth, please." Somehow the man commanded him with a straight face.

"P...pardon?" Sugimi sputtered, unsure whether to laugh, be insulted or run. The man's fierce blue eyes focused more keenly, if that were even possible, and he repeated himself, unblinking and unfazed.

"Open your mouth, please."

Since the winged man seemed intent on personifying a stone wall, albeit a very unnerving stone wall, Sugimi acquiesced with a belligerent grunt.

"I don't understand why you-"

The man snapped his fingers.

"KYAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Sugimi was short one fang.

He watched with watery eyes as the fang, one of his long incisors of course, skittered through the air like a hummingbird until it landed innocuously in the winged man's palm.

"There," the winged man grinned broadly, emotions flipping on a coin, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Your God wouldn't happen to be named Totosai, would he?" Sugimi groused around his swollen gums.

"Pardon?" the winged man blinked. Sugimi snorted.

"Nothing...My brother's sword...wait," Golden eyes narrowed with suspicion, "What do you intend with my fang?"

"Not me, but my Lord and God. And I believe you already know the answer to that question." Without preamble the winged man tossed the fang straight up in the air until it disappeared. Sugimi regarded him skeptically.

"You are a strange man."

"And a promise is not a promise until it's kept. Have a little faith, my friend."

Raising his hand once again, the winged man gripped empty air and pulled, unsheathing an elegant blade from the sky itself. Its style, even from Sugimi's vantage point below the rock ledge, was blatantly crafted as only the finest Japanese halberd, whisper thin but sharp as a parchment's edge.

"Wha...where did you get that?" Sugimi gaped openly and the winged man frowned in puzzlement.

"Wasn't it obvious?" His eyes flicked skyward.

"I _meant_," Sugimi stressed, "that sword is from my country, not anywhere remotely close to here. Since you drew it from thin air, I assume your God crafted it from my fang. How would he know to fashion a sword I would recognize?" The winged man had the nerve to sigh blithely.

"Now is not the time to expound upon God's place in this world. He is many things to many people, but in the end, he is this–"

He hopped to land at Sugimi's feet, flipped the sword in his hands and offered Sugimi its hilt.

"He is this? A sword?" Sugimi murmured and shuddered deeply, "Or do you mean death?"

"No," the man corrected him, "He is mercy."

"Mercy in a sword?" Sugimi's quiet thoughts barely left his throat, "That's preposterous."

"Normally, perhaps, but this is a sacred gift. Use it with this instruction. One swipe of this holy sword will revive as many as 100 dead, but only if the heart wills it. The mind must be one of compassion, however brief or minute, or the sword will neglect its bearer."

"How can one master a sword that disobeys him?"

"Ah, but a bearer and master are two different things. This sword will follow the voice of its true master until the bearer's thoughts are pure, then the power will transfer to the one who holds it in his hand. Until the mortal heart is righteous, the sword of heaven will deny him." The winged man's pale eyes shimmered with secrets, but his expression betrayed nothing. Sugimi inspected the blade with confusion.

"So it does not kill? How can it aid me against my father?"

"Oh, it is not for you. It's for your son."

"Sesshoumaru? But he's a child–" Sugimi paled as a thought sliced through him. "You mean I must use it to revive my son? Is he already–"

"Don't be afraid," the winged man interjected with a raised hand and a patient look, "My Lord and God intends it for when the boy is older, in remembrance of his own son whom you save this day. You may use it three times in your son's stead, but when he is of age to inherit your title the sword will respond to no one but him. It is a gift of one son's power to the other, a seal on his covenant with you. My Lord's son is destined for many great things, many words of wisdom, but one phrase ordained to the annals of time is meant for you. _'Do not think that I have come to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.'_

Life is not always about peace, Dog Prince. You know that very well. But life is precious, and life, with all its freedoms and sufferings and awakenings, is what is given through this blade. It has the handprint of my Lord's son on its hilt even as we speak. It is not an instrument of peace, but of compassion. With this sword, your son will one day understand what it truly means to be powerful."

Sugimi sank down on the glittering grass with his head in his hands. His sigh was long and tortured. "I do not know whether to hope for that day."

"Wise words," the winged man's demeanor softened in sympathy, "They mean you understand the sacrifices he must make. Every father, at some point, will witness the pain of his child and be helpless to stop it. It's hard to bear the knowledge, but when that day comes your son will need his own grace, in the same way grace has come for you now." He paused and cleared his throat presumptuously, "Which brings us back to the question you never answered."

"You didn't exactly give me the chance," Sugimi retorted, "Then, you left my mouth dumb with the effort. I shouldn't deign you with a reply at all."

The man guffawed and shook his head. "I do apologize for seizing your fang so abruptly, but is that not a budding tooth I already see?" He stooped down and poked his fingers under Sugimi's nose, chuckling like an unruly child and earning an impressive growl as Sugimi batted the offending hand away.

"Do you have any respect for personal boundaries, man? The speediness of my dental recovery is not the issue here."

The man's mirthful eyes sobered.

"No, it is not."

Sugimi should've been accustomed to the man's easy ability to shift between the light and dark of a mortal's heart, but how could he when even the air and earth visibly buoyed their course on the man's oscillating emotions? The breath in Sugimi's lungs dropped anchor, the valley's vibrant foliage dulled and darkened under the weight of thunderclouds, and the fertile soil beneath his feet hardened to dry crust in the heat of his pain. All around him, Sugimi watched the world bend beneath the somber stroke of anguish.

Clutching the holy sword in his hand and remembering the Lord's Son, Sugimi felt his soul quake with the world around him. What more did he have besides this promise? With proof of this God's Word in his grasp, what more could he possibly hope for?

Who else would protect his only son?

"Your Lord," Sugimi whispered, "would really do all this for me?"

"Yes." The winged man assured him. "Just think of it as a debt paid from one good father to another." Sugimi straightened up with new resolve and looked the man directly in the eye.

"Tell me what I must do to earn this grace."

"Heed my Lord's request to leave this place without returning to Herod. Your father is not the only impious king who wishes the divine child dead; Herod, too, will have him killed if you send word of his location. Convince the other magi to leave at dawn by a different route, and my Lord and God will save your son as you have saved his."

"You have my oath in blood." Sugimi made a fist as his eyes flashed red, startling the winged man at the feral sight of his beast's brief release. Opening his palm, four crescent shaped cuts flowed like viscous garnets from where Sugimi's claws had lengthened through his skin. Bending down on one knee, Sugimi placed his hand flat against the stone riverbank, leaving a mark behind that vaguely resembled a large paw print.

"Well," the winged man gulped, "that was certainly different."

"It is the strictest oath of my kind. I have never been compelled to pledge it before, but your Lord and God merits this and anything else I can give him for what he's offered. I would give him my life if he desired it."

"Oh no, no," the man tittered, waving his hands frantically, "He provides his aid requiring nothing more than your faith. It's not often he finds a demon so willing to listen...quite rare, actually."

"I will give you and your Lord my thanks, then, and know that if I could be of service, he only need call." Sugimi bowed regally.

"He will do that." The man smiled and bowed in return, then signaled Sugimi to follow him down the lush green path out of the valley.

"We are leaving, then?" Sugimi asked.

"You are waking, yes." The man nodded and lowered his wings against his back.

"Waking?" Sugimi stopped and shouted. "This has all been a damned dream?"

"Do not be afraid." The man placated him again, "My Lord is very fond of sending messages this way. It's quite expedient, really, and easily accessible. I'm assured it's the most efficient form of communication for many millennia to come, even after the invention of the Internet–"

"If I have only given my oath in a dream, what is it worth?" Sugimi nearly panicked.

"Let your beastly soul rest, my friend. Its worries are non-founded here." The man gestured over the cliff's edge, sweeping his hand across the horizon. "Look there upon the valley and tell me what you see."

"I see..." Pausing as the city's splendor humbled him again, Sugimi sucked in a breath and continued. "I see..."

But when a multitude of heavenly beings clothed in shining white linen emerged from the groves, exited their dwellings and walked upon the paths, all seeking entrance through the eastern gate and chanting immortal hymns, Sugimi had no adequate words to explain the sight.

"That is my Lord's own house," the man's low voice wove through the song, "Do you think he would confine his kingdom to your mind?"

"Well, no." Sugimi swallowed the last vestige of his arrogance.

"Then neither will he confine his covenant. He lives just as much around you as within." The winged man smiled congenially and returned to the path. "Come, you will see in the morning."

"I...I feel shamed to doubt him in his own kingdom. I do not deserve his help."

"I've heard that many a time before," the man chuckled, "Many don't believe what they can't see, but just because my Lord loves those whose faith has reached its peak, does not mean he condemns those who still struggle at the bottom. He wants everyone to climb as high as they can, to beseech him through acts of kindness, so he sets the Way before them, marked with the Truth and cleared with the Life. It is each individual's choice to follow it."

"Only then will it lead them to God's pure land." Sugimi repeated thoughtlessly, then stilled at the tug of deja vu. "Yes, I...I've heard that before."

"Have you?" the man replied casually.

"Yes." Sugimi stumbled, replaying those words in his mind, stunned with an observation that was struggling to manifest. "I have one more curiosity to sate, if the answer is permitted."

"Ask away." The man floated down the steep incline without turning his head.

"The holy child..." Sugimi paused, unsure of how to phrase his question. Churning his thoughts, he sighed and let the words fall where they may.

"Your Lord's son...is he a buddha of some sort?"

The winged man stopped suddenly and stood so still he appeared to melt into the city's undulating light. Sugimi watched in open wonder as the vivid green of the valley's foliage deepened and shimmered like a mine full of emeralds. Time sped as vines curled and palm fronds grew, waving like excited crowds heralding the return of a king, and Sugimi would've been sure he was hallucinating from the Parthian smoking herb if he didn't feel the pulse of fresh, new life rushing up through every fiber of his body.

Then the winged man turned around with a smile, and winked.

-----

Sugimi woke with a start and shot up from his futon. Quickly adjusting his vision to the darkened camp, he stared past the tents toward the horizon. Strips of sky were beginning to lighten into the normal jeweled bands of dawn. He could tell the sun wasn't far behind.

Reflexively, his hand reached for the black hit of his tonto, but the unfamiliar fabrics and misshapen hilt jarred him. Blinking with bewilderment, he unsheathed the sword, unwilling to look down at it just yet, afraid that doing so might shatter the reality of what he realized he was holding. Testing the foreign weight in his palm, he slowly sliced it through the air, marveling at the pure tone singing in its wake. Bringing it up to eye level, he fought to contain his astonishment.

Straight and narrow, red and gold and bright, this was not his father's sword.

_My dream..._

The hush of early morning hummed through him with a reverence he'd never felt before, and Sugimi could swear he heard the rustle of a Holy Spirit dancing on the dunes around the camp. It infused him with its presence, leaping from the shimmering blade in his hand and calling him home.

This was most assuredly not his father's sword. It was not made with malice or cruelty, but prayer and promise, with zeal quivering in the silver. It was not made for murder. It was made for life.

It was made of _Him_. _The Messiah._

As the sun brimmed over the sand, something kindled in the depths of Sugimi's soul. Hope welled in his chest and threatened to spill from his eyes, but he shook himself soundly, realizing that the covenant of the winged man's Lord was waiting on his action, eager to be fulfilled. He sprang to his feet, inhaling the clean desert air as if it was his son's precious scent, and fastened the armor of faith over his shoulders.

Before he could rest in the security of his family, Sugimi had his own promise to fulfill. He had another son to save.

Marching into the servants' tent, he shook the Parthian Lord's personal footman from his pallet. The footman yawned a few times dumbly before Sugimi commanded him in Persian so precise he froze as if unceremoniously dumped in an icy lake.

"Wake your lord and gather his caravan. We depart immediately."

The footman stared for a moment, then nodded fiercely and stumbled in haste to his master's chamber. The oil lamps flared like furnace-fired glass inside the main Parthian tent as he woke his lord and then ran with Sugimi's orders from one servant to the next. Several shouts had the encampments scurrying in preparation as both lords and their interpreters wandered outside to meet Sugimi, their movements still groggy with sleep.

"What is happening?" The Parthian lord mumbled. "I was just in the middle of the strangest dream." Not expecting an answer, he blanched, suddenly very wide awake, when Sugimi replied in fluent Persian.

"Your dream involved King Herod." Sugimi stated.

"Y..yes," the Parthian lord stuttered, "but how did you...where did you..."

"My lord, you must listen. I, too, had a dream about Herod, but I was given a warning not to return to his palace. If we give him the information he desires, the child-king will be murdered."

"It seems we all have had an ominous dream," the Yuezhi lord turned to the Parthian with his face set in worry. "I think we should listen to the Japanese prince."

"I appreciate your cooperation, my lord," Sugimi bowed to the Yuezhi lord, shocking him with the perfect dialect of his tribe. They blinked between him and each other, and then, without further question, sped away to clear their camps.

Turning away from the harried chaos, Sugimi stared in urgent anticipation as the sun climbed over the rocky dunes. His thoughts turned back to the winged man's words, and the promise of his Lord.

_'I will keep my word,'_ he whispered to the God he would never truly know, _'And I will put my trust in you.'_

The sun was sinking in the sky when they passed the borders into the Parthian's native land. No doubt word had reached Herod by then that they had fled with their caravans and information. Sugimi had made sure that even the most minute parcel was packed with care, so when the dust-storms blew over their campsite no evidence was left they'd ever existed. If Herod chose to hunt them, Sugimi hoped his struggle would be futile.

Goodbyes were hasty with the miasmic danger rankling over their heads, and the caravans split as discreetly as they could at the crossroads. The days came quicker as Sugimi traveled alone, save the burden of his entourage, but the nights stretched on with threats and doubts, a deep chill of foreboding hunting him with the sharp teeth of jagged shadows. They toyed with his senses and resolve, snapping at his every step until he collapsed in exhaustion within a mere hundred miles of the Chinese coast. His convoy quickly followed suit, unpacking the necessities and dropping like flies starved for slumber.

He chuckled bitterly, despising that an entire retinue meant to serve their prince left _him_ the only one to stand guard. No matter the extremity of his fatigue, his worries thwarted every opportunity to sleep, his heart drumming a constant reminder of impending loss like an army on the warpath. Was it too much for at least one of his men to stay awake with him, to quell his agony with quiet support? He wasn't concerned by their feckless insult to his station. He just couldn't bear to be alone, not with his fears so close and his heart so fractured. Not with the final test so near.

Anxiety hung from his shoulders like a waterlogged pelt as Sugimi limped up to a shallow crag overlooking a farming valley. He knelt next to the edge and his eyes traced the outline of the tiny trees etched in faint moonlight below, all of it so flat and frail compared to the glory witnessed from his last mountain ledge. A sliver of white light glimmered off a small spread of rice paddies and Sugimi glanced up, his composure disintegrating at the sight.

The moon had waned into a thin, round crescent identical to the one he often kissed on his son's forehead, but much of it was obscured by a thick hatching of clouds, like it was held prisoner behind their girth but its light was intractable, its presence too glorious to contain.

"Please, give me strength." He choked around a mouthful of tears.

An errant breeze sighed through the spindly mountain bluffs.

_"Have a little faith, my friend. Be strong now. Be strong."_

The clouds dispersed, and the moon illuminated his mountain ledge as if his pup was snuggled at his side. He shivered as a tender calm settled over him.

Overcome, Sugimi surrendered to a heavy sleep.

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**Sugimi's Dream** - To describe the city Sugimi sees in his dream, I borrow visuals of the Western Pure Land from the Smaller Lotus Sutra, one of the three sutras recited by practitioners of Pure Land Buddhism, and the visual description of Zion as God's heavenly dwelling place in the Old Testament books of Ezekiel and Daniel, and The Book of Revelation from the New Testament. These descriptions are similar enough that it didn't take much effort to combine them into a beautiful place where God wouldn't mind kicking his feet up on the heavenly couch.

**Pure Land Buddhism** is extremely hard to explain. The main goal of Pure Land Buddhism is to attain rebirth in the realm of Sukhavati, where the Buddha Amitabha resides and all impediments to attaining Enlightenment (impediments being earthly desires - sex, drugs, rock n' roll - and all that jazz) are nonexistent. There are three sutras that describe in beautiful detail the visuals of the Pure Land and should be recited by practitioners to gain entrance there. I could go into further detail but why don't you just check it out for yourself?

http :// www. cloudwater. org/ pureland. html

Historically speaking, the Pure Land tradition was first recorded in China in 148 CE (AD), introduced by a visiting Parthian Persian monk. Two decades later another monk from the Yuezhi country (by that time known as the Kushan Empire) arrived in China to translate more sutras. I am taking great creative liberties with this ideology, insinuating that the visual description of the Pure Land could have arisen from Buddhist evangelism in Greece and Egypt during Ashoka's reign almost 300 years before. I see it as quite possible that information from other faiths the monks encountered in their travels made its way into later Buddhist thought. After all, it's called the _Western_ Pure Land, is it not?

http :// en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Pure_Land_Buddhism

**FYI:** I make no pretense to bastardize religions out of deceit, but in this story I hope to emphasize both a similarity of ideals taught between many major faiths and the historical reciprocity of religious beliefs. I do not claim to think Jesus was a Buddha or had any ties to the Buddhist philosophy. I merely want to suggest that the position of Buddha and Messiah have some parallel points, as do the descriptions of the Western Pure Land and the City of Zion. Sugimi is going on what he knows, as he has no concept of Judaism outside of this journey, and the similarities of the Messiah to his own experience are enough to open his eyes to a bigger picture.

Here's a great article, written on my birthday (yay!) that puts into perspective what I'm trying to get across:

http :// jimvb. home. mindspring. com/ ser1998Oct11. htm

**The Angel** - The physical description and conversational style of the angel (yep, the ten-_shi_ _mal'ach Elohim_ guy) I borrow from the Books of Ezekiel, Daniel, Tobit (only in the Catholic Bible) and Revelations, in case you're curious. _Tenshi_ is japanese for heavenly messenger. _Mal'ach Elohim_ is hebrew for the same, and translates into what we identify as angels.

**The Story of Abraham and Isaac** is chronicled in Genesis 22:1-19. I take some creative liberties in the telling of this story.


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